Appetite
by outtabreath
Summary: Spock’s brain is a little more Human; Uhura’s is just as pushy as ever. The continuation of Discoveries.
1. Breakfast

I am just my muse's puppet and my muse is a huge fan of Spock/Uhura smut…

As before, all characters belong to Rodenberry and Paramount and there are sexual situations ahead - if you no like-y, you no read-y.

All of the Vulcan words come from the Vulcan Language Dictionary Online (VLD). I also did a lot of research on the (Star Trek) Memory Alpha Wiki, which may be the coolest website I've ever visited.

Thanks to miss steph, who, as always (except for when she's in Minnesota), served as my beta. I MISSED YOU!

Did you know the Vulcan word for appetite is _yeht-avon_? Well, now you do.

Savor and enjoy….

**~*~Appetite by outtabreath~*~**

**Part One of Four:**_ Breakfast_

Gaila snored.

She didn't snore loudly, she snored delicately and lightly. Many of her numerous lovers described it as sexy and cute; one particularly besotted cadet had even written a poem about her snores.

Uhura, however, was not one of her smitten lovers, she was her roommate and it had taken her close to a year to learn how to sleep through the diminutive snores and snuffles.

_Damn exceptional aural sensitivity._

But now that she was used to it she found it oddly soothing. When she heard it.

Which, currently, she did not.

Which meant one of two things: Either Gaila wasn't in their room or _she_ wasn't in their room.

She opened her eyes.

Yep. Option two.

_Good morning, Nyota! Do you remember what happened last night?_

Her brain, as helpful as ever, supplied her with images.

_Pale skin flushed green, melting brown eyes, hands tight with tension touching her body. Incredible pleasure._

_Spock. Real Spock, not fantasy Spock._

She stared at the ceiling for several moments and tried to remember how to breathe. She had seduced the Commander.

_And he had liked it._

He had said she was talented and accomplished and told her she was empirically pretty and he had touched her and she had touched him and there had been kisses and climaxes and he had called her beloved and she got to wake up in his bed.

_Best night ever._

She wriggled her toes and stretched her arms over her head, relishing the way the blood heated up her veins and the way her muscles twinged; she had never felt this good the morning after.

She flopped her hand toward the middle of the bed and her fingers found more bed, not a very warm body.

_Uh oh._

She sat up and perused the Spartan room. She was alone with the bed and the small dresser. Everything was very clean and the room was bare – except for the small, neatly folded pile on top of the dresser.

Her clothes.

She got out of bed and looked at the neat pile. It was folded and stacked with great precision. She glanced back at the bed. It was a disaster: The sheets were tangled and rumpled, the blanket hanging on to the mattress by a corner, the pillows were in disarray.

She wondered how long it would take him to strip the bed after she left. How long before he erased all evidence of messiness. How long before his bed was just as orderly and precise as everything else in his life. How long before he would excise last night from his mind.

Her stomach hurt and her heart was thudding painfully. She clutched her midriff.

_I can do this. I can get through this._

She closed her eyes and took several deep calming breaths, then pulled on her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair. She had to be calm and presentable when – _if_ – she saw him.

_Don't you want him to still be here, Nyota?_

_I'm not sure, Brain. I got what I wanted, but I don't know if I'll get to keep it._

Her normal brash and confident self seemed to have fled the room while she slept.

_Time to get this over with._

She walked out of the room and headed towards the rest of his living space.

He was sitting on his short couch, dressed in casual clothes, a PADD in his slim fingers; the moment her foot crossed the threshold from hall to living room, he set it down and stood gracefully.

_Gods, he can make standing up sexy._

"Good morning, Nyota," he said, inclining his head towards her.

_Well, at least he didn't call me Cadet Uhura._

"Mornin'."

_Behold my exceptional linguistic talent._

"I have some fruit. Are you in need of nourishment?"

"Didn't you eat already?" she questioned.

His eyebrows did that sexy drawing together thing and he replied, "No. I wished to wait until you awakened."

"Fruit sounds amazing."

_Fruit sounds amazing? Mornin'? Really, Nyota, keep it together._

He stepped towards the small table she had just noticed. There were two chairs, two bowls, two forks, and two napkins.

_Two._

"I can also make tea."

"Tea sounds divine."

_Shut up, Nyota, stop talking right now._

His lips quirked up momentarily as he motioned with his hand for her to sit; she complied and stared at the table, trying to remain calm.

_He's being his usual polite self. He's feeding me so he can give me a cool brush-off after a lengthy discussion of The Standards and Practices of Starfleet and its Academy._

He placed a cup in front of her and she jumped. "I apologize, Nyota. I did not mean to startle you."

"You didn't startle me, I'm fine. Really and truly." She took a sip of tea.

_Hot tea. Hot tea. Hot tea. Hot tea._

He sat down across from her and began to eat. Just like that. He did not steeple his fingers in front of his chin and stare her directly in the eyes while he ripped her heart to little pink pieces. He did not pull out a PADD with all the rules and regulations that governed their lives and enumerate just which ones they had violated. He ate. Like it was a normal thing for them to do, like they had breakfast together every morning after spending every night having hot and sweaty sex.

"Would you prefer something else?" he asked, waking her from her stupor; he was looking at her, eyebrows pulled together, and she realized that she was still sitting frozen, one hand in her lap, the other clutching the handle of the teacup like a lifeline.

"No, fruit is…."

_What, Nyota, amazing, divine?_

"Fine."

She picked up her fork and speared a piece of fruit and put it in her mouth. Numbly, she realized that was eating something that she knew was a strawberry: It was red like a strawberry, it smelled like a strawberry and it was shaped like a strawberry.

It tasted like sawdust.

"I completed _Pride and Prejudice_ and wish to discuss it with you," he said as he sipped his tea.

"_Pride and Prejudice_?" she parroted dumbly.

"Yes. You told me that it is one of your favorite Terran novels. Am I in error?"

"No. _Pride and Prejudice_ is one of my favorite Terran novels," she replied numbly.

_So he's not going to quote regulations at me, he's going to pretend nothing happened._

She didn't know which was worse.

"I did not think I was in error," he continued, oblivious to the fact that she was having a nervous breakdown on the opposite side of the table. "I had not read it, but I trust your judgment implicitly. I found myself very interested in the characters and their dilemmas. Of course, if either Elizabeth or Darcy had acted more logically and realized their compatibility, they would have been able to negotiate a positive outcome much sooner." He speared a piece of melon and chewed it slowly.

She sat very still, staring at him in abject shock. He was making small talk; she didn't even know that he was aware of the concept, never mind that he was capable of engaging in it.

_He's capable of engaging in many things you never thought he was._

_Be quiet, Brain._

"After reading the novel, I acquainted myself with Jane Austen and with the historical period in which she lived and set her novel; it is my opinion that she portrayed the social mores and customs of the time quite adequately." He continued meeting her stunned gaze, continued eating his breakfast and drinking his tea. "I am interested in hearing your thoughts on the subject. I believe you told me that you have read it several times."

"I've read it seven times," she corrected out of habit more than anything else.

_Am I crazy or is he?_

"Then you should have a great deal of insight. I am anticipating many discussions of the book. Perhaps you could recommend complementary works so I may read them and we can compare and contrast them with _Pride and Prejudice_."

And that, for some reason, was all she could take. Maybe it was the tension of what he wasn't saying, maybe it was that he was talking about the future as if there was going to be one, maybe it was just that she could not bear to sit there another second waiting for him to turn back into Commander Spock.

Whatever the reason, the consequence was the same: The floodgates flew open and there was no holding back the deluge.

"Are we really talking about this, about _Pride and Prejudice_?"

"Did you wish to pursue another line of discussion?"

_SHUT UP, NYOTA, DO NOT ANSWER THAT!_

She ignored the internal input and said, "Damn well right I do. You and I had sex last night and you're just going to sit there and act like nothing happened? Just tell me that it was a mistake and that it can never happen again. Just get it over with!"

He carefully, precisely, laid his fork down next to his bowl, his hands went into his lap. "Do you wish me to say that our activities last night were a mistake?"

"Well, they were."

"I understand if you wish to think that, but I cannot entirely share your opinion of the matter. I will agree that our decision to engage in," his ears went a little greener, but he continued speaking, "the acts in which we engaged was in violation of several Academy regulations.

"However, as you so rationally argued last night, you and I are capable of keeping our personal relationship separate from our professional relationship. You would not, nor would you need to, petition me to alter a grade or recommendation; additionally, I would not execute any such requests. I believe that we can be discreet."

He paused to take a sip of his tea. She saw the small tremor in his hand. "Finally, I enjoyed our activities and would not be averse to repeating them to the extent with which you are comfortable."

_Shut your mouth, dear. Gaping is not attractive._

He picked up his fork and began eating again.

_What the…did he…am I…how did…_what_?_

Her mind sputtered along for several seconds until her thoughts caught and she was able to speak. "I'll need to take a shower."

He looked up from his fruit - _which, now that I think about it, he was focusing on pretty hard_ – and said, "I do not understand the meaning you are trying to convey."

And, with a rush, her confidence and her brashness returned from wherever the hell it had been hiding for the last twenty minutes and she said, "Today is Sunday. I don't have anywhere I need to be."

_I don't have to be crying in my bed, berating myself for making a play for one of my teachers, getting drunk with Gaila, throwing myself into San Francisco Bay because of my stupidity…._

'I do not have any commitments today either," he said. She noticed that his hand was trembling again; he placed it back on his lap, away from her gaze.

"I'll need to take a shower before we…," she speared a grape and chewed it for a moment, letting the anticipation build, "repeat our activities."

He flushed green, but his voice was as modulated as ever, "My sanitary facilities are at your full disposal."

_Okay, we'll work on his flirting skills._

She shoveled the rest of her fruit into her mouth; he watched her, his teacup in his hand, an expression approaching horror in his eyes.

_No time to waste._

She stood, downing the remainder of her lukewarm tea and announced, "I'm done. I'll be out of the shower in ten minutes."

She whirled away from the table and did not see his eyes widen and his hands shake, sloshing tea onto the table.

_This is the best shower I have ever taken. This is the best decision I have ever made. This is the best day ever._

She started singing.

_You, Nyota Uhura, are completely gone._

_Yep. Don't care._

She emerged from the sonic shower and sorted through the neat display of bottles and tubes that sat on the small table next to the sink. She found the mouthwash and swished vigorously.

_Fresh breath is imperative._

She brushed her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were glowing and her skin was flushed a dark brown.

She was presentable.

And naked.

She glanced at the pile of clothes at her feet.

_Why bother getting dressed? I don't plan on staying that way for very long anyway._

In seven minutes, thirty seconds flat she emerged from his bathroom to find him already sitting on the edge of his bed, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. His eyes got very wide when he saw her state of undress, but otherwise he looked completely calm.

_But I know better. You're here two minutes and thirty seconds early, Commander._

She walked over to him, gently pushing at his feet until he slid them apart, she shimmied between his legs and leaned over him so she could kiss him; his head was tipped back and she was able to control the kiss.

His hands moved to her waist and slid up her sides. She shivered and deepened the kiss. His hands tightened on her skin. She moaned into his mouth and began to lean all of her body weight into him. She wanted him horizontal.

He let her push him back onto the bed and forbore as she kept kissing him, as her tongue kept being pushy and bossy with his tongue.

She moved her lips lower, remembering the promise that she had made to herself ten hours earlier – _has it really been only ten hours? It seems like days_ – to lick and caress and adore his perfect neck until she had her fill.

She was sucking and nipping and he was pushing on her shoulders. She ignored him; he pushed harder. She made an irritated sound into his skin and let him push her back.

Perplexed, she looked into his stunned eyes. "What? What's wrong?"

"I wish to explore," he said, his voice quiet, almost shy.

"Explore what?" she asked, not sure what he was saying. After that breakfast he have been referring to anything: The social commentary of _Pride and Prejudice,_ why the Ferengi have 178 words for rain, Bolian marriage practices.

"You," he clarified.

_YES!!!!!_

"Okay."

_Okay, okay, okay, okay. So very, very, very okay._

And then she was on her back, the air of the room whistling in her ears as he reversed their positions with lightening speed.

He was on outstretched arms above her, looking down at her. "I…" he began, hesitating.

She knew instantly what he couldn't say and what he needed to hear. "Will be fine," she soothed.

He raked his gaze downwards slowly, very slowly. When his eyes returned to meet hers they were heated. "Yes. I believe I will be."

He did not begin by kissing her, which was page one in _her_ playbook. He did not use his lips and mouth on her at all. Rather, he dipped his head towards the line of her jaw and began to rub his cheek against her skin.

Nuzzling.

She whimpered at the unexpected movement. His voice floated to her. "I believe that is a satisfied sound."

"Very."

_Very, very, very, very, very._

"I am pleased," he said, the heat of his breath flooding her skin, adding another layer of sensation.

_Me, too._

Then he brushed his face across her breasts, her fingers found his hair, pulled him closer. He repeated the action. She pushed him closer to her needy skin.

He gently kissed the tip of the left nipple. Her right, instantly, felt very left out and decided to stand up and try to capture his notice. He moved his face away from her and gazed at the impudent pieces of flesh. He brushed his fingertips across them, one after another.

Her breath whooshed out of her.

"Is that a pleasurable sensation?"

She barked out a laugh before she could bite it back.

"This is a humorous sensation?" he asked. His eyebrows were starting to draw together.

"No," she said quickly. "It's just that 'pleasurable sensation'" doesn't even come close to describing how good that feels."

"I do not understand why you laughed then. Please explain."

"Listen, I'll be happy to talk to you about Human sexual responses later. Much, much later." She motioned down towards her chest. "Please proceed, Commander."

He raised a single eyebrow.

She beamed. That eyebrow had been the first thing she had liked, really liked, about him, and it was the fourth sexiest thing about him.

"As you wish, Cadet."

_Was that playfulness?_

He returned his hands to her chest, brushing paths of electricity across the sensitive undersides of her breasts, the valley between, the sides – he discovered all of her erogenous zones; even ones she had never been aware of.

Then he bent his dark head and took a nipple into his mouth. She groaned and felt every single bone in her body turn instantly into jelly. He worried at the responsive piece of flesh with teeth and tongue.

He released that nipple, moved to its twin. After an indeterminate amount of time during which she may or may not have panted, moaned and pulled on his hair, he released her, caressing his slim fingers over her skin.

"Very pleasurable," she ground out before he asked.

"Yes, it would appear so," he said, sliding his fingers across the taut skin of her abdomen. She twitched in response. He repeated the action, adding a swirling motion. She gasped. He moved his tongue over her skin. She whimpered.

He continued with his explorations, leaving flickers of heat in the wake of his fingers, blazed paths with his tongue. His amazing focus was almost overwhelming when it was directed solely on creating sensation.

_And I'm really okay with that._

He dipped lower and she held her breath. She looked down at him, he was staring at her. With a start, she realized that he was cataloging her responses to every lick, every stroke. He was _learning_ her.

She almost climaxed at the realization.

_Almost._

Instead, she watched as he slid down between her legs, looked at the area between her legs that was drenched and insensible with need.

He looked for a long time.

"Let me guess," she panted out. "You are fascinated."

He looked at her, "That is one word that can adequately describe my current state," he said. Then he dropped his eyes again, "You placed my fingers here," he said, touching her clitoris.

_Yes I did, because I am very, very smart._

Then he replaced his fingers with his mouth.

Her hips levitated – her whole body levitated – off the bed.

_Goodgoodgoodgoodgoodgood._

She writhed under his attentions for several long and intense minutes before she climaxed in starbursts, supernovas, ion storms…

"Nyota, did I render you unconscious?" he was asking, pulling her back from where she was floating by stars and planets.

"I think maybe you did," she said, amazed that she was able to speak.

"Then my record is better than yours."

She opened one eye – _when did I close them?_ – and looked at him. His head was on the pillow beside hers and he looked the same, a little flushed, perhaps, but just as implacable and calm as ever. But his eyes…

_His eyes are sparkling a little._

If she hadn't already, she would've loved him in that instant.

"Your record?" she asked as feeling returned to her legs and arms in a rush of sparking energy.

The corners of his lips – _his perfectly formed, eminently kissable lips_ – quirked up. "My record. You were only able to render me incapable of speech; I was able to render you unconscious."

_Did he just_ challenge_ me?_

"Your record is about to be broken," she promised, willing muscle to move. Her hands collided with fabric.

He was still fully dressed.

He had explored her nude body, had _learned_ her, had pushed her to climax and he was still dressed; it was all very sexy and erotic, but she was ready to have his skin to play with. "Stand up, please."

He took a deep breath and rolled off of the bed; gaining his feet, he hovered at the edge. She liked to believe that he was waiting for her next order. She rolled over and kneeled on the edge of the mattress. His head was a little higher than hers in this position, which suited her just fine. She wasn't interested in anything above his shoulders.

She slid her palms under the deep blue shirt he was wearing, pushing it up and over his head. He pulled it off and dropped it to the floor beside him.

"I know you want to fold that shirt, Commander. I know it's driving you crazy, just lying there in a little blue pile," she said conversationally as she ran her palms up from the waistband of his pants – the very same pants that were tenting towards her – and across the firm muscles of his abdomen, brushing his nipples, skimming the rough scattering of hair. "But very soon you aren't going to have the brain power to even think of that shirt." She ran her finger along the line of hair that extended downwards. "Just like you aren't going to be capable of thinking about how badly your pants are going to be wrinkled." She reached the waistband and undid it, pushing downwards firmly, stripping him of outer and under pants in one fluid motion.

He stepped free of the garments and she could get a good look at him – in the full sunlight that streamed in the windows he was even more astonishing than he had been in the quarter light of night. There wasn't a single part of him that wasn't firm and toned.

But her gaze was focused on the firmest, most toned part of him. She was used to the color now – wondered how she could've ever expected a penis that was brown or pink, how she could've ever thought brown or pink were good colors for penises when, quite obviously, pale green was the perfect penis color.

_Oh yeah, his record is about to be smashed._

She bent forward at the waist so she could take him in her mouth. He could feel his fingers biting into her shoulders as she manipulated his erection, making it bigger, harder, needier.

He was gasping above her, he was throbbing between her hands, in her mouth.

_Oh no you don't._

She released him and moved backwards, sprawling onto her back – legs and arms waiting for him. She caught his eyes – his stunned, aroused eyes – and smiled. "I think you should come here."

_Gods he can move fast._

He was hovering above her on outstretched arms, hesitating.

"Nyota…."

"I got it," she whispered, reaching down so she could guide him in, so they could join their bodies.

He sunk into her; her body – her heart – expanded to allow all of him in.

He began to move, his movements jerky initially, but smoothing into an astonishing and determined rhythm as he learned this new skill, as her responses emboldened him.

He continued to move on her, in her, he was whispering Vulcan words into her skin over and over, "_Ashayam_, _vaksurik_, _bolayatik_."

Beloved, beautiful, necessary.

_Am I necessary to him?_

And that was the thought that pushed her into completion.

Again.

From a great distance she heard him call her name, felt him pulse within her, felt the rush of pressure and warmth. He collapsed onto her and she brushed her fingers along his arms. He made a sound that came dangerously close to sounding like a sigh of contentment.

He rolled to his side, taking her with him so they ended up with legs intertwined and various body parts pressed against each other in very pleasant ways. They stared at one another for a long time, bodies heaving as their systems – overloaded with stimuli – began the long process of returning to normal.

She kissed his nose.

"I find that I am tired," he announced; he did not look like it was a comfortable feeling.

"Sex often makes people drowsy," she pointed out.

"It does not make Vulcans drowsy."

"And you know this from vast experience?"

"I do not have vast experience in these matters," he replied.

"But you do have experience. You said you did last night." She began running her fingers through his hair.

_I remember that very, very clearly. You said it right before you told me that nothing was like you and I together._

_Sort of._

"There was," he paused and shifted in her arms, "_an_ experience. I will tell you of it in the future."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I do not doubt that you will."

She played idly with the point of his hair, her finger brushing the edge of his ear. His breath caught. "Sorry," she apologized, moving her fingers back to safer territory.

"I do not wish for you to stop."

"Then I won't," she smiled and began to follow the line of his ear with a single fingertip. "You were up before me this morning. How long did you sleep last night?"

He took a deep breath and it seemed as if he was carefully weighing his reply. After a long moment, far longer than she was used to when waiting for a response from him, he replied, "I was not in need of rest."

"And now you are."

"Yes, it would appear so. The adenosine levels in my brain are consistent with the need for a period of sleep."

"Then you should take a nap," she said, looking forward to watching him while he slept. His arms tightened around her. "Just close your eyes," she soothed, still playing with his hair and ear.

His lips thinned – it was an expression she recognized; he made it whenever someone asked a particularly stupid question in class; he made it when he wanted to say something that his manners, his professionalism, and his Vulcan upbringing prevented him from saying.

_Why does he look like that? What'd I say?_

Then she realized. It was not what she had said, but what he could not. "I'll be here when you wake up," she promised.

_A full-scale Klingon attack couldn't get me out of this bed._

"That would be most satisfactory," he said, his eyes slipping closed. She pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"I'm counting this as my rendering you unconscious," she whispered.

His lips did that quirking thing again – _I can't even keep count anymore_ – and he nuzzled his face into her neck.

_He really has no idea how good he is at this._

_Best not to tell him: We don't want him sharing his talents with anyone else._

_No, Brain, we most certainly do not._


	2. Lunch

The first part was ridiculously long; this part is a much more manageable length. That's what she said.

This chapter is rated T. Sorry. The smut will return in Part Three.

_**Disclaimer and warnings in Part One.**_

**Part Two of Four:**_ Lunch_

PADDS with essays and tests in need of marking were piled neatly upon the floor, the shades on the window were closed, the lights at half strength. His desk was occupied by several covered bowls and dishes, two sets of dining utensils and two glasses of bright blue _kaasa_ juice.

He moved deliberately but with haste, not wasting a movement; everything should be ready before she arrived; it was only logical. Since she had left his quarters at 2230 hours on Sunday night, he and Nyota had only been in each other's presence for eight point five hours; four of those hours had been spent in a lecture hall with one hundred and thirty-one other cadets and the other four point five in this office working with three other students on the finer points of the Bolian language.

They had been able to allot thirty minutes for this meeting and to use any of that time in preparation would be...

_A waste._

Vulcans did not believe in waste. It was illogical.

He heard her purposeful footsteps well before she arrived to press his door chime.

The fever burned brightly for a moment; he tamped it down quickly.

Discretion would not be served if he was unable to control himself in his office in the middle of the day.

The door slid open without his having admitted her; she knew that he would always allow her in.

_Into my office, into my bed, into my life._

He was standing very still and very straight, hands clasped behind his back, as she entered the room. She stood just inside the door until it slid firmly shut behind her; then, and only then, did he loosen his hands and let them fall to his sides in mute welcome. She walked to him and encircled his waist with her arms and rested her forehead against his. He gently brushed the sides of her neck, she shivered against him.

_Discretion._

He stepped back, away from her skin and hair and scent, and, turning to the desk, uncovered each of the dishes, identifying them in turn, "_Plomeek_ soup, _pok tar_,and Vulcan mollusks with _Rhombolian_ butter. I thought that perhaps you would enjoy sampling a variety of Vulcan dishes."

She grinned in a manner he recognized as flirtatious and replied, "I think sampling all things Vulcan is very enjoyable." She folded herself elegantly into one of the chairs. He thought momentarily of their many enjoyable activities.

_This line of thought will not be of benefit at this juncture._

He sat down next to her, sliding his chair a little closer to hers. Her eyes were on the food in front of them, but he saw her lips curl up into a smile. His lips twitched upwards infinitesimally in response.

He placed a bowl in front of her, "This is _plomeek_ soup. On Vulcan, we eat this in the morning."

She picked up her spoon and took a small sip of the soup. Her nose crinkled in a most appealing manner and she laid her spoon back down. "It's…."

"I have heard that Humans think it is very bland."

"Bland. Okay, that's a good word." She picked up her glass and took a sip of juice. "I like this," she said, smiling at him. She replaced the glass on the table and licked her lips. He stared at the motion, familiar warmth suffusing his body.

_She is just cleansing her lips of the remnants of the juice. Why does that captivate you?_

He dropped his head and took a spoonful ofsoup He could feel her eyes on him, could feel the way his skin prickled under her gaze. He swallowed and she still watched him.

"Yes, Nyota?" he queried, looking at her.

She blinked and fumbled for her spoon, her fingers were trembling; she took a sip of _plomeek_ soup, and winced.

_She has already sampled the soup and did not find it to her liking, yet she took another sip._

His mind worked, sorting through the possible reasons for this absent-minded behavior.

_She is flustered; she did not want me to observe her staring at me._

He did not understand her. He enjoyed looking at her; that she, similarly, found his appearance pleasing was perfectly logical. The majority of the activities in which they engaged would not be as pleasant if they did not find each other attractive.

He glanced at her, preparing to point out the irrationality of her dissembling, when he noticed that she was staring at her spoon and running her fingers along the handle.

It was most distracting.

_I know the talent those fingers possess._

"Can I try some of the _pok tar_?" she asked, diverting his attention from memories of how her fingers felt on his body.

He blinked, looking at her face. "Perhaps you should try the mollusks and _Rhombolian_ butter instead. That dish may be more to your liking than the _pok tar_."

"Nope, I'm going to try them all." She pulled the dish containing the _pok tar_ towards her and scooped up a small spoonful. He watched her closely, deeply interested in how she was going to express her opinion of the flavor and texture of the dish.

She slid the spoon into her mouth and chewed slowly, her expression remained immobile, but he could tell that it was difficult for her to retain her composure. She swallowed with great difficulty.

"You do not like it," he said.

"It's not as bad as the soup."

"But it is still not to your taste."

She dropped her eyes to the table and shook her head, "No it's not. Sorry."

"Taste is an involuntary response that is connected both to the number of tongue receptors an individual possesses and to the types of food that someone has been exposed to. Why would you apologize for something over which you have no control?"

"Saying sorry is a Human thing," she replied; her fingers began to draw circles on the table. He recognized it as an action that she engaged in when she was agitated.

He thought about covering her hand with his, stilling the movement, but she stopped and reached for the last dish.

"Okay, let's see how this one is. Mollusks are mollusks and butter is butter, right?"

"Vulcan mollusks are larger than Terran mollusks and Rhombolian butter is less creamy than Terran butter."

She sighed and placed one of the clams in her mouth; she chewed with great enthusiasm and swallowed. "These are really good." Her face relaxed as she speared another and ate it.

_Her facial expressions are consistent with the emotion of relief._

"Why are you relieved that you find this food enjoyable?" he questioned.

_I want to _understand_ her._

She stared at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes, a gesture he was becoming very well acquainted with. "Fine, you want to know – don't answer that, I know you want to know – then I'll tell you. I didn't want you to think that I hate the taste of everything Vulcan – you know, besides you." She swallowed quickly and widened her eyes as her skin darkened; she dropped her head and put another mollusk into her mouth and chewed it with great rapidity; she shifted in her chair.

_She did not intend to say that and she is flustered again._

It was very difficult to contend with illogical Humans who were reluctant to be honest, both with themselves and with others.

_But learning to contend with her is a worthwhile pursuit._

"Nyota, I, too, find your taste extremely appealing," he said. He would, as always, teach by example.

She choked on the food and sputtered for a moment, coughing and struggling for breath. He attempted to remember the proper response for a Human choking incident.

_Pat firmly between the shoulder blades._

He delivered a sharp blow precisely between her shoulder blades; she swallowed and yelped in pain.

_Perhaps not so firmly._

"I apologize, Nyota, I did not intend to harm you."

She looked at him with an expression he had never seen on her face: incredulity. "You didn't hurt me, but why did you do that?" she demanded, her voice hoarse from the coughing.

The hoarseness of her voice was concerning: It made him think she may have experienced more distress than he had initially surmised. "It was the proper response to a choking Human," he said, watching her closely for the signs of further trauma.

She smiled at him, the suffusion of color slowly fading from her face as her breathing returned to normal. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"I have four nieces and two nephews and those kids tried to swallow most of the African continent. I learned in my certified babysitting classes," - she narrowed his eyes at him, "Yes, I took a class on how to care for children, someone had to try to keep the nitwits alive - that as long as someone is coughing, they're breathing; if they stop coughing you do abdominal thrusts. You never, ever hit their back."

He sat down and thought, accessed information and memories. "You are correct. I was in error."

"It was bound to happen once or twice," she smiled, spearing yet another piece of mollusk; not even almost choking would prevent her from eating. "I appreciate you admitting that you made a mistake."

"Why would I admit otherwise? Clearly, I was unable to access the correct response. To purport otherwise would be illogical.

"I must admit that I am puzzled as to why I could not remember the correct response to the situation. I can remember only three similar experiences. All of them occurred when I was a young child."

She waved her fork towards him. "It's because you can't think straight around me," she leaned forward, invading his personal space.

_Most satisfactory._

She fluttered her eyelashes; he recognized this as flirtatious behavior. Several of his students had attempted, unsuccessfully, to coerce him into altering test scores with similar behaviors. She appeared to be exaggerating the fluttering, however; he believed she meant for this to be a prank or joke.

"It's because you are captivated by my beauty," she continued, her voice becoming more melodic and breathy.

_She is attempting to be humorous, and yet…._

"That is a fair and accurate representation of my state when I am in your presence," he said.

She blinked. "Are you serious?" Her voice returned to its normal tone. "Of course you're serious," she continued. "When aren't you serious?"

She dropped her fork to his desk and joined her mouth to his.

_I could stop her. I could make her stop. _

Her tongue slipped in between his lips, the mingled tastes of food and Nyota flooded his senses.

_I do not wish for her to stop._

She was caressing the edges of his face, being very careful not to disturb his hair. He responded to the kiss, grasping the bare skin of her arms, cautious of wrinkling her uniform. She had moved to half-kneel between his legs, balancing on the edge of his chair. It was only his hands on her arms that prevented her from tumbling to the floor.

She was deepening the kiss, her touch was becoming firmer, more demanding. She had worked her hands under his shirt and was running her cool fingertips along the waistband of his pants.

_I could take her here. I could tear the clothes from her and take her breasts into my hands and my mouth, I could rouse her until she was whimpering for me, I could lay her on the desk and bury myself within her tightness and swallow her cries of pleasure with my own as I drove us both to completion._

_I can...._

His hands found the skin of her thighs and he pushed at them, eager to follow the heat that called for fingers and tongue and penis; she drove her body more firmly into his hands and moaned into his mouth.

It was that moan that awoke him from his trance.

_I cannot…_

He lifted her up and returned her to her chair. Her eyes were dark with arousal. The fire roared through him and he almost gave into it.

Almost.

"Nyota, we agreed that we must be discreet. I do not think that engaging in sexual intercourse in my office at 1325 hours on a Wednesday would fulfill the terms of that agreement."

"And what would you say if I told you that the agreement was stupid and I want you anyway?"

"I would repeat the English idiom: Good things come to those who wait."

_She will roll her eyes._

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "The English didn't know what they were missing." She sighed and covered her face, rubbing at her eyes. "Look, I have a free night on Friday. I'll bring the food. Let's say nineteen hundred hours?"

"I will see you on Friday at nineteen hundred hours."

_Fifty-three point five hours. _

"And in class, of course," she said, uncovering her face. Her face was set in hard lines, her eyes lacked their characteristic warmth. She had not exhibited this expression since they had first agreed to alter the nature of their relationship….

_She would say "expand the limits…."_

"Of course," he said, computing the chances that she would smile before she left.

They were very low.

She sighed and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "This is really hard, you know. Harder than I thought it would be. I just have to keep telling myself it'll all work out."

_I concur._

She looked into his face for a moment then she straightened in a fluid motion and left.

They had exceeded the time allotted for their lunch by four point seven minutes.

_It is still not enough._


	3. Dinner

Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed. I really do appreciate (and read and re-read and re-read again) every single one of them.

After the UST of Part Three, Spock and Nyota need some _resolution_.

Yeah, _resolution_.

_**Disclaimer and warnings in Part One.**_

**Part Three of Four:**_ Dinner_

For three years she had watched him. She had watched him speak and move and work; had watched his lips form new words, his feet move deliberately across the front of his classroom, his fingers slide deftly over numerous PADDs.

And now, a week after she had thrown caution to the wind and attempted –_ successfully_ – to seduce him, she was still relegated to watching him.

Because she couldn't touch him.

Between his teaching and work on the _Kobayashi Maru_ and her classes and the chorale and the fact that she had a roommate who was very nosy, they had barely had any time to be together.

_Together _naked_._

Lunch in his office did not count because he was committed to discretion.

Watching him lecture most certainly did not count, even if she was able to enjoy the sexiest thing about him: His brain.

And the way he moved.

_But I really like him for his brain._

_And the way he moves._

_It's his brain…_

_Entirely._

_Mostly._

_Unless I'm watching him walk._

She stumbled, almost tripping over her feet. She blinked and realized that she had, somehow, gotten herself to his building. She shook her head trying to clear her mind of the way he looked when he walked across the front of his classroom, how his feet slid together when he stopped, how he held himself while he continued talking, how his mouth moved when he was speaking some musical alien language…

_You know, Brain, you're really of no use. You're too busy sending me pictures and being pushy to actually help me figure out a way to spend more time with him._

_Lack of sex makes you cranky, and mean, dear._

_Only lack of sex with _him.

The front door opened obediently and the turbolift was empty and waiting. The third floor hallway was empty as she walked quickly to his door and rang the chime.

She could hear his deep voice admitting her and her stomach jumped.

_It's worth it. All of it._

The door slid open and there he was, standing by the table looking better than should be allowed. She had never seen him in a white shirt before – _were those buttons?_ – and she highly approved of the tight black pants.

_Gods he's even more gorgeous than I remembered._

She dropped the bags containing dinner and her personal items to the floor beside her and strode over to him.

"Good evening, Nyota. I did not know what you were bringing for dinner. I have set the table with…"

She stopped his prattling with a kiss. A very thorough kiss. She tried to suck his tongue right out of his head. When she finally let him go, she was proud to see that his lips were a little swollen.

_Nice work, Cadet._

He blinked and breathed and said, "While I appreciate the enthusiasm of your greeting…."

_Still too much talking._

This kiss was even more aggressive than the first. She began tugging at his shirt, determined to get it off of him.

He pulled his head back from hers and looked down, his eyes very wide, one eyebrow slanted higher than usual. "Nyota, the food…."

"Will keep," she said. She'd gotten half of the buttons undone.

"I am to 'go with' this?"

"That would be great," she said, finally getting the shirt off. She spread her hands flat against his skin and touched every inch. She glanced up to find his eyes fixed on her hands. She brushed his nipples and he made a strangled sound.

_Gods I've missed this._

She was addicted. There was no other way around it.

_And now it's time for me to get my fix._

The pants were easy to get off and she was delighted to find that he wasn't wearing underwear.

_Somebody wanted me to have easy access._

She was enjoying the view of his body – _all naked just for me_ – when he tugged her into his arms and to his mouth. He kissed her just as aggressively as she had kissed him.

_And there go my knees._

He levered his arms under hers to keep her upright.

She still sagged against him as he plundered her mouth.

_I think he missed me, too._

When he finally let her breathe, her head was spinning and the floor was looking very comfortable.

_Bedroom too far. Bed too far._

"Are you still worried about the food?" she asked as he busied himself pulling her shirt off.

"No."

"Do you want me to put it in the kitchen?"

He pulled her skirt and underwear down and, one-armed, lifted her up and out of them. "No."

"Okay then."

And then he pressed her down to the floor and proceeded to kiss her neck and breasts and stomach. She reached her hands up towards him, trying to participate.

He clasped her wrists, stretched them over her head. His eyes were deep brown. "Please leave your hands there, Nyota. I do not wish to be distracted."

_Aye, aye Commander._

So she stayed still while he kissed her all over – _all over_ – head to toes and back again and back again. She had no idea where his lips were going to end up next – knee, thigh, stomach, clitoris – he didn't spend much time on any area, just kept moving, tasting and touching – it felt like his mouth and hands were everywhere at once.

_Goodgoodsogoodsosogoodgoodgood._

Her hands began to drift down of their own volition.

"Keep your hands above your head, please," he said, as calm as ever.

_Yes, sir._

She obediently stretched her arms back above her head.

"My fingers and mouth here produced a favorable reaction," he said, and then his actions matched his words as he licked her clitoris and the opening to her sex with soft laps. Her hips flew up, seeking…seeking….seeking _more more more_.

"Nyota, please open your eyes."

_I didn't realize they were closed, Commander Spock._

"Nyota, I made a request." His voice was steady and polite, like he was asking for her help with a project.

_And I'm the project._

She willed her eyes to open and found him kneeling between her legs. He was big and hard and very, very ready.

"I wish to see your eyes," he said as he lifted her hips high and slid forward and in.

All of the hesitation and uncertainty that had marked the first time he had taken her was gone. He was very confident, very good, and very, very male.

_Gods, he's a quick study._

She kept his eyes on his as he took her, pushed her inexorably and inevitably to climax and, even then, she watched him – through bursts of stars and light – watched his skin flush green and his mouth open in cry of satisfaction as he pumped into her.

He did not drop down onto her when he was done; instead, he fell forward onto his outstretched arms and dipped his head down to kiss her. His body was shaking and his arms were trembling as he held himself rigidly above her equally electrified body.

"Good evening, Spock," she said into his mouth.

"Good evening, Nyota," he said back, lifting his body up and away from hers. She stretched and watched him watch her movements.

_Stretching feels good._

_So does what you just did._

_That's very true, Brain._

She sat up; he moved to kneel beside her.

"I'm hungry," she announced as she strained to reach the food.

_Damn, just out of reach._

He picked up the bag and handed it to her. "That should not surprise you. You did not eat before you coerced me into sexual activity."

"Thank you," she said, taking the bag from him. "And, coerced!" she demanded. "I was just kissing you hello, you're the one who pushed me onto the floor."

His lips quirked as she ripped open the bag. "You were weak, your knees could not hold you upright, I was merely ensuring that you did not fall and injure yourself. It was the correct response."

She leaned her back against the wall – _table too far_ – and grabbed out a container of vegetable fried rice. The take-out place had helpfully included chopsticks.

He was still kneeling, watching her. "We are going to eat while sitting on the floor?"

"It'll be like a picnic. I got you steamed vegetables in a variety of sauces, noodles, rice…"

He hadn't moved.

"What?"

"It is not logical to remain on the floor when we can get dressed and sit at the table."

_There is no way I'm going to let you cover up that astounding body._

"We are not going to get dressed or sit at the table. The table is too far away and I'm not planning on getting dressed until I have to leave."

His eyes heated, but he stayed as still as marble.

_Stubborn! Vulcans are very stubborn._

_And talented, Nyota. Very talented._

_Brain, you're not helping…_

She thought for a minute. "Fine. I'll get something that may make this easier for you." She got up – _whoa, weak legs_ – and headed down the hall.

_Bare feet don't make the cool stomping sound that boots do. _

She'd remembered seeing towels in his bathroom the first time she had been in there and she had no trouble locating the small pile again. Thank Gods he didn't just take sonic showers.

As she picked up the soft, heavy cotton her mind was flooded with images of him in the shower…

_The water sluicing over his skin and eddying in rivulets across the valleys and planes of his muscles. His head leaning back as he wet his hair, eyes closed against the onslaught of water. His hands, soap covered, caressing his skin in loops and curlicues. His hands dropping between his legs, taking himself into his hands, cleaning himself with gentle touches, firm strokes…_

_Gods._

She returned to reality to find the towels had fallen from her slack hands.

_You've got the real thing in the living room and you're in here fantasizing about him in the shower? Pull it together, Nyota._

_That is a good point, Brain._

She bent over and picked up the towels and walked back to him; he was standing, their clothes in an orderly pile on the end of the couch.

"You cleaned?" she demanded as she busied herself laying out the towels on the floor.

"Order is the basis of…."

"I got it," she interrupted. "Please sit down."

He sat down, his usually graceful movements awkward and jerky.

_He hates this, but he's still doing it for me._

Warmth flooded her and made her careless. "I missed you," she said.

_I don't care if he doesn't say it back._

_Mostly._

"I, too, found our time apart to be difficult."

_Oh thank Gods._

She began to eat enthusiastically; he ate in his usual careful, determined way.

"Where'd you learn those moves?" she demanded after a mouthful of egg _foo yung_. "Because, for a man who doesn't have much experience in sexual matters, that was some pretty advanced work."

He shifted a little and swallowed. _Hard_. "I am a scientist, Nyota."

"You did research?" she asked.

"I studied erotic works," he corrected, "as a part of my survey of the cultures with which I would have contact during my duties as a member of Starfleet."

_Oh my. Spock is a_ naughty_ Vulcan._

"I don't remember seeing that course on the syllabus," she pointed out as she continued to eat.

"It was a private project."

_A _very_ naughty Vulcan._

"I'm sure it was," she smirked.

He flushed green – the color suffusing his chest, neck and face. "I read and analyzed the works, Nyota. I did not use them for self-gratification."

"But…."

He sat up, holding up the hand holding the chopsticks to quiet her. "I understand that you wish to discuss this matter so that you may tease me. I will not provide you with a response that will satisfy you, so we can cease this line of discussion now."

"Oh, I'm pretty satisfied right now."

His eyes blazed at her, she grinned at him, leaned over and stole a green bean from his container. "So, what works did you read? Do you wish to compare and contrast them? Discuss how they capture the social mores and customs of the cultures that created them?"

"Not particularly." He opened a container of noodles and deftly ate a few.

"Did your 'an experience' come out of them?"

"Please clarify your question."

"Did you read them and become so inflamed that you found the first pretty Vulcan girl you could and try out some of the things you'd read about?"

_Is it hypocritical of me to want him to say no?_

_A little, dear._

He eyes shuttered instantly and his lips went very thin; the mood in the room suddenly shifted from playful to tense. "I read the erotica after I received my Starfleet commission. My limited experience with carnal matters…my _heretofore _limited experience with carnal matters… occurred on Vulcan while I was a Cadet; while I was on," he paused as if searching for the correct word, "_leave_ from my studies. I intend to tell you about the experience, but it is a story that carries a great deal of importance and I do not wish to speak of important matters tonight."

He dropped his head and continued to eat methodically.

She placed a hand on his arm; he allowed it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you."

He looked up at her as his lips relaxed and his eyes lost their remoteness. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "I am fully cognizant that you meant no offense by your line of inquiry. Curiosity and irrepressibility are two of the things that make you such a fine student.

"I wish to share many things with you, many stories, but such candor is difficult. I do promise to tell you of it, Nyota, when the time is right."

_Blink, Nyota._

"You know you just made me a promise."

"I am aware of that. I intend to fulfill the terms of the promise."

"I never forget anything."

"I am also aware of that."

She smiled and let the matter drop as she ate with great gusto.

_Sex with Spock makes me hungry, and happy._

_Better than cranky and mean._

_I'm ignoring you, Brain._

She polished off most of the egg _foo yung_ and had started on a container of fried rice when she glanced over at him. He was sitting very still, eating delicately and watching her.

She leaned towards him and grabbed another green bean from him.

"I will give you this container."

"Nope. Stolen food tastes better."

"That is illogical. The food is the same – how you obtained it should not alter the taste."

"It's the thrill of the theft."

His eyebrow slanted upwards. "How does the thrill intensify the taste?"

"The adrenaline, the fact that you're getting away with something…."

"But you did not 'get away with something.'"

"It's a figure of speech."

"A figure of speech is a phrase with a specialized meaning not based on the literal meaning of the words in it. I do not believe that 'get away something' is an actual figure of speech as the person does believe that they indeed will be able to leave the area with a stolen object."

"Spock…."

"Additionally, you took the green bean and I saw it; I confronted you. If your aim was to take the green bean without my notice you were unsuccessful."

_Trying to banter with a Vulcan makes my head hurt._

"Never mind, Spock."

He opened his mouth as if he intended to continue with the discussion.

"Do you want to talk about alien erotica again?" she asked, her benign tone softening, but not obscuring, the threat in her voice.

"No, I do not."

"Then you'll drop the green bean discussion."

He paused for a moment, then said, "I thought that we could begin our discussion of _Pride and Prejudice_ tonight;" he had dutifully changed the subject.

_He deserves a reward for his compliance._

"Or…" she said meaningfully and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Or?" he stared at her, eyes depthless. "I do not understand what you are trying to communicate to me."

"We could go to bed."

"It is only 2005 hours and we have not yet had a chance to discuss _Pride and Prejudice_."

"It's a three hundred year old book; it can wait another couple of days."

"Are you in need of rest already?"

"People don't just go to bed to sleep," she explained, leaning closer to him. "There are other reasons…."

_Fun and naughty and sexy and sweaty reasons._

His eyes widened in sudden understanding. "I would not be averse to going to bed."

"Good," she said, standing up and reaching down for his hand.

He looked around his seating area and she could almost smell the burning of his synapses as he struggled to deal with the idea of leaving his quarters in anything less than a pristine state.

_Poor obsessive-compulsive Vulcan._

"I'll put the food away; you clean up the towels."

He nodded as briskly as ever, but there was a palpable aura of relief about his body.

She resealed the containers, stacked them and said, "We can have this for breakfast."

"Breakfast?" he asked, an eyebrow heading northwards.

"It's better than_ plomeek_ soup. Now go get ready for bed, please. I'll be along in a minute."

She headed to the kitchen to store away the food. She listened to his light footsteps move around the other room and head down the hall.

_I do love the way he moves._

The kitchen was, no surprise, sparkling and disgustingly clean.

_I wonder what he would do if I dripped a bit of sauce on the floor and left it there._

The phrase Vulcan heart attack came to mind.

She stored the food away and stood still for a long moment, enjoying being in_ his_ kitchen, in _his_ quarters. Finally, she turned out the light, retrieved her overnight bag and headed down the hall.

She stopped in the bathroom, made herself presentable and walked into his room. The lights were at quarter strength; he was lying on his side in bed, an echo of the first time she had lain there. He pulled the sheet back for her and she slid in beside his very warm body.

"It took you three hundred and seven seconds to join me," he said as he began to nuzzle her neck.

"And…?" she replied.

"You stated that you would join me in 'a minute.' A Terran minute consists of sixty seconds"

"It's a figure of speech, Spock."

"Like 'getting away with something?'" His nose found a very sensitive spot right above her shoulder.

"I am not having this discussion again. Please kiss me there."

"Here?" he asked, kissing the spot.

"Yes." She shivered and he repeated the action. She began to stroke his shoulders.

Her fingertips touched his skin gently while he continued to brush his face against her; they caressed one another without the urgency of the frenzied coupling an hour ago. They allowed themselves the luxury of relearning each other after being apart for so long.

_It's only been five days, Nyota. _And_ you just had sex on the living room floor._

_Don't care, Brain._

Gradually, by gentle degrees, she could feel her body begin the process of melting, of preparation for him. She could feel the flesh pressed against her leg growing harder.

"You're never satisfied, are you?" she asked him.

"On the contrary, I am satisfied by you the majority of the time," he murmured into her clavicle.

She shook her head. "There would be a part of you that would disagree." She brushed her hand over his hardness. It twitched in response.

He made a deep sound, almost a growl.

"Poor dissatisfied part," she murmured, stroking a little harder. He lifted his head and settled it on the pillow beside her; his eyes stared into hers. She shifted her hips closer to his body, hooking her right leg up over his left hip, high enough that she could feel his heart beating beneath her thigh.

_It's so fast, so strong._

His right hand began to stroke her face; his left hand moved to her hip and held on as she moved forward, taking him inside. The hand on her hip tightened.

She rested her forehead against his and began to move with gentle thrusts; their bodies slid together and apart as his lips found hers. Her arms pulled him even closer; they moved together – lips, tongues, bodies – leisurely and carefully, enjoying the way their skin slid over each other, enjoying the way the sensations built gradually. Dreamily, her hands stroked the length of his back; his ran through the strands of her hair over and over.

Even though their movements remained gentle, the sensations continued to intensify until she was gasping in his mouth and his hands were tightening in her hair, his lips forming Vulcan words she thought she recognized.

They came together, bodies seeking the last bit of sensation needed to reach completion and they were aware of each pulse, each shock, each twinge of pleasure.

As the aftershocks continued their coursing way, they kissed lips, noses, eyelids, cheeks, foreheads tenderly.

"That was nice," she said, needing to re-anchor herself.

"I agree. However, I do not remember reading about that particular…."

"Position," she added helpfully.

"_Position_. It seems that my research was not as extensive as I had previously thought."

She ran her fingers through his bangs. "Maybe I should assign you some homework."

"I assure you that I would give any such assignment my full attention."

She shivered in anticipation.

_You'll like grading those assignments, won't you Nyota?_

_That's quite enough out of you, Brain._


	4. Dessert

Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and favorited this story and _Discoveries_. I am currently percolating a very different kind of Spock/Uhura story. Please stay tuned.

And thanks again to miss steph, who, despite my subjecting her to three years of Lorelai Gilmore, its/it's issues, often red-level smut and green penises still wants to be my Beta and friend; I don't deserve her, but I'm happy she hasn't figured that out yet.

_**Disclaimer and warnings in Part One.**_

**Part Four of Four:**_ Dessert_

At precisely 2000 hours on Saturday, his door chime rang.

"Come," he responded, knowing who was in the hall awaiting admittance.

He had been waiting for her since 1501 hours as she completed assignments, practiced with her chorale group and ate dinner with her roommate; been waiting for her for a week as they conducted their separate lives.

She referred to it as maintaining deniability.

He referred to it as discretion.

But whatever the name they gave it, it was torture; he had not been able to touch her for seven days.

The fire within him grew more uncontrollable the longer he was apart from her.

_And burns hotter when I am with her._

Nyota entered carrying several bags and wearing a long coat, buttoned and belted tightly across her slim frame.

He had last seen her as they parted company after they had concluded a study group at 1500 hours. The weather had been sunny and the temperature 31 degrees Celsius; the overnight temperature was forecasted to be no lower than 26; by no means hot for a Vulcan, or even a woman from East Africa, but warm enough that a coat was superfluous.

"Good evening, Nyota. Did the temperature drop precipitously?" he asked. He stood very straight and still. No matter the depth of the heat, the strength of the fire, he would not, _could not_, initiate physical contact.

It was not the Vulcan way.

"Nope," she said, stopping to kiss his cheek before proceeding to the table. "And good evening, Spock."

"Then why are you wearing a coat?"

"Because I couldn't walk into your quarters dressed like this," she replied as she took the coat off and draped it over a chair.

_Red compliments her coloring very well._

He had read of such things in the research she had assigned him. _Lingerie_. From the French words _linge_, "washables" and _lin_, "washable linen." Women's underwear designed to be visually appealing or erotic, and to heighten attraction and arousal.

_Lingerie is much more effective in practice than it is in theory._

"Do you approve of my attire?" she asked as she began to unpack one of her bags.

"It is not regulation Starfleet but I can not find any other fault with it," he replied, moving his eyes over the sheer garment. His fingers moved spasmodically, wishing to push at the thin straps, wishing to touch her breasts, wishing to slide his fingers under it so he could explore the area between her legs.

"I'm pleased that you are pleased," she said briskly, oblivious to the depth of his response to her attire.

"What are you doing?" he asked, attempting to gain control as she assembled a construct he did not recognize.

"We're celebrating my commission; we haven't had a chance to yet." She gave him a smile over her shoulder.

_Yes, the fire is much hotter when she is with me._

"Now, you have to call me _Lieutenant _Uhura."

"Ihave been calling you Lieutenant Uhura for three days."

"Not here," she clarified, taking out a ceramic pot and dumping the contents of a small container into it; she put the pot on a metal device. She placed several other containers on the table and then placed a candle under the pot and lit it.

"There," she announced, returning to him. "The chocolate will take a few minutes to melt which gives me time to give you a proper greeting."

He had many questions for her but they could wait; he desired her _proper greeting_.

She walked to him and twisted her slim arms around his neck, raised her mouth to his, kissing him gently. She began to end the kiss and the burning intensified.

_I wish for the kiss to continue._

He pulled her hair from its confinement and fixed his hands deep in the soft strands, pulling her head closer so he could slant his mouth across hers. She whimpered and dug her nails into the back of his neck; she did not struggle, did not try to pull away. His hands moved from her hair to clutch at her buttocks so he could pull her off her feet and against his chest. She was completely in his control.

_The fire is uncontrollable, immense, unquenchable._

His body was hardening, determined to find the release it had been lacking for seven days. She wished for him to take her, her physical reactions to his kiss were consistent with a desire for intercourse. She would not protest if he carried her to the bedroom and buried himself into her body.

_You _must_ control yourself._

He was not a rutting animal; despite the presence of the ceaseless burning, he was not experiencing _Pon Farr_, would not experience it for several years yet. He was a _Vulcan_.

He _could_ control himself.

Logic and sanity washed over him in a cold wave.

He pulled away from her and quickly set her back on her feet; he stepped back from her.

"I missed you, too," she said, blinking and shaking her head.

"Nyota, I apologize for my actions."

She sighed and shook her head, grabbing his hand before he could move it away. "You do _not_ need to apologize. You will _not_ berate yourself. You _will _enjoy the dessert I have brought with me. Got it?"

"I will endeavor to do so."

"Do or do not, there is no try," she said, returning to the table and stirring the contents of the pot, "Yoda."

"I do not recognize that…" he paused, his eyebrows knitting together; his being unable to identify the source of a quotation was an unusual occurrence, "Philosopher?"

"Not a philosopher, a Jedi master from _Star Wars_; or, more precisely, _Star Wars_ Episode something: _The Empire Strikes Back_. Once you get past your fixation on Nineteenth Century Terran literature maybe you'll let me introduce you to Twentieth Century Terran films."

"I would welcome such exposure."

She smiled at him and patted the chair she was standing beside. "I do believe in exposure."

He remained very still, hands firmly behind his back.

_I burn for her._

She sighed, "I'm fine, you'll be fine, now come over here and celebrate the fact that I'm a Lieutenant."

He conceded defeat and walked to her. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders and looked up at him. "Just remember that I've lost control with you more than once; you deserved a turn." She started to unbutton his shirt. "Besides, seven days is a long time to be apart."

"I am three times stronger than you are, Nyota; I am aware of that and yet I used my superior strength to overwhelm you."

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and began to work on his pants. "You did not overwhelm me. Well, you did, but in a very positive way." She pushed him down onto the chair and knelt in front of him.

He found that breathing became a challenge.

She looked up at him through lowered lashes. The combination of her gaze and the sight of her breasts barely contained by the filmy red material drove all thoughts of self-recrimination from his mind.

She stripped his pants from his body and threw them in a pile on the floor. He did not even notice; he was too busy staring at her mouth.

"That's better," she said, rising elegantly to her feet and settling herself carefully onto his lap.

He felt his blood pool between his legs and he thought momentarily of repositioning her so she was impaled on him, of _making_ her move for him.

_I can control myself._

She angled her body so she had access both to the table and to his mouth. "So this is fondue," she began, taking out a long metal instrument that resembled an oddly-shaped fork. "I know that Vulcan taboos prohibit you from touching food with your bare hands, so I'll feed you." She paused and stared at him balefully; "If that's alright with you."

"I do not have any objections to that plan."

"Lieutenant," she prompted.

"_Lieutenant._"

She picked up a strawberry and dipped it into the pot, then carefully moved it to his mouth. "I used dark chocolate, I figured milk would be too sweet for you."

He opened his mouth and allowed her to place the fruit into his mouth. He was not expecting the explosion of flavor, how _good_ the confection would be. He chewed slowly, drawing out the experience; "That was most unexpected."

"I'll interpret that to mean that you enjoyed it," she said before eating her own strawberry. "What do you want to try next? Pineapple or orange?"

"Pineapple," he replied without hesitation.

She picked up the fork and speared a piece of pineapple and dipped it into the pot. He watched her movements with fascination and anticipation. She removed the fruit and let the excess chocolate drip down as she cautioned him, "Don't bite the fork. It'll be hot and you'll hurt yourself."

"Nyota, I am not a child. I will not bite the fork."

"Remember, I'm a certified babysitter," she said as she fed him. "I can't just forget the years and years of training."

"How long _does_ one train to be a certified babysitter?" he asked as he savored the pineapple.

She paused. "Did you just tease me?"

"No, I asked you a question."

"It was kind of a smartass question."

_Perhaps…_

"I do not know what you mean."

"Sure you don't," she said, feeding him an orange slice.

_This is my favorite._

"Marshmallow?" she asked seconds before placing it into his mouth.

He swallowed with great difficulty and said, "That is very sweet."

"Too sweet."

"More sweet than I find palatable."

"You could just say that you don't like it."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Or you couldn't. No more marshmallows. Got it." She dipped an orange slice in the chocolate, then slid it into her mouth and then dipped one for him. As she moved the fruit from the pot to his mouth a drop of chocolate fell to the top of her breast.

They both stared at it for a moment.

"I'll get that," she said, moving her fingers to her skin.

He stopped her movement. "Please allow me, _Lieutenant_."

She inclined her head, "As you wish, _Commander_."

_Gentle._

He leaned forward and carefully licked the chocolate. He was very thorough, _waste is illogical_, and she was writhing against him when he finished.

"Spock," she whispered before she kissed him. He could taste chocolate and fruit and Nyota; it was a potent mixture.

When the kiss ended, he was erect and she was aroused; _more_ erect and_ more_ aroused.

Her hand was trembling as she dipped a strawberry and put it into his mouth; it was trembling as she dipped and ate an orange; it was trembling as she put her hand on his jaw and guided her lips back to his.

After several pleasurable moments in which he was able to savor the taste of her mouth, she ended the kiss, turned and blew out the candle, stood up, straddled him and sunk down, taking him within her tightness.

_She is very efficient._

"You okay?" she asked.

"Very much so."

She ran her tongue along the line of his jaw and pulsed her muscles around his penis; he held himself rigid.

_I will allow her to dictate this, allow her to lead._

"Spock, you can move."

"Nyota…"

"Don't worry," she whispered, "I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you contained. I promise."

"Nyota…"

"I promise," she whispered again, kissing him deeply.

_We feel emotions, more deeply and strongly than Humans; logic and reason offer us a serenity that emotionalism cannot._

Nyota offered serenity; she offered containment and constancy.

His hips surged up towards her as she bore down on him; she smiled blissfully; her hands rested on the sides of his face, her fingertips touching the points of his ears. She slid herself up and down, moving on him, riding him.

_Just because one does not express an emotion does not mean that one does not experience an emotion._

She shattered his physical control; she shattered his emotional control.

His defenses fell and he was overwhelmed by the emotions that he held so carefully in abeyance; his hands tightened on her body and he began to whisper into her skin.

_Nyota._

_Ashayam_.

_Nyota._

_Vaksurik_.

_Nyota._

_Bolayatik._

_Nyota._

She was calling his name, calling words he did not recognize but which were familiar all the same.

His hands found her hips, slowed her frantic movements. He desired…he _wanted_…this to last. She panted, she cried out and he responded in kind.

_I am a child of two worlds; belonging to neither._

Her taste, her smell, her touch.

_With her I belong somewhere._

_Bolayatik._

_Nyota._

With a rush of pleasure, he emptied himself into her. He felt her nails bite into his shoulder as she spasmed around him.

Her forehead rested against his. He could taste salt on his lips.

"Nyota, are you crying?"

She leaned back and he gently wiped away the moisture.

"Humans cry when they're happy, you know."

"I know that; it is illogical."

She shook her head and kissed him. "It makes sense to us."

"It is a very difficult concept to comprehend."

She stared deep into his eyes as if searching for something; her face hardened and she eased herself off of his lap; he wished to pull her back to him.

He did not.

She had been able to breach his defenses and he needed to time to reinforce them; he began to retreat to within himself.

She stood in front of him, watching his face for a moment; he believed he saw fresh moisture in her eyes, but she turned away before he could be certain. "I'm going to put the fruit away," she said, gathering up the containers and returning them to the bag. She picked up the fondue pot and the bag.

He stood, but he was not as steady as usual; his equilibrium appeared to be compromised. "May I assist you?"

"I've got it," she said, bustling away.

He listened to the sounds of her storing the food away, her soft footsteps in his kitchen. He picked up the clothing she had dropped to the floor and folded it, stacking it on the edge of the table. The simple, familiar action had always been able to help him find his center; this time, he did not find the relief he had expected.

_Order, reason, logic._

He was still shaken, still undefended.

"Spock, can I ask you a question?"

He looked up; she was standing very still by the wall that divided the kitchen from the sitting area. The light from the kitchen created a nimbus around her.

Another Human word flowed into his consciousness: _Breathtaking._

"If it is why I persist in folding our clothing even after you have told me that you find my actions irritating…."

"I know the answer to that one, Spock: Reason, logic, order, wrinkles, blah, blah, blah. No, I have another question." She tilted her head and waited for his response.

"You may ask me a question at any time, Nyota."

She took a deep breath.

"Am I necessary to you?" she asked.

"I do not understand the question," he said.

_I do not know if _you_ understand the question._

"You say that to me sometimes, in Vulcan. You call me beautiful and beloved and necessary."

He blinked; struggled to find his center.

_Vulcans do not lie_.

_But they do not express emotion either._

_Vulcans _do not_ lie._

I_ do not lie._

"You are beautiful," his voice was even and calm.

"And the other words?" she persisted.

_Gravity, magnetism, belonging. _

The universe had shifted; _she_ was his center.

_Nyota._

"They are also accurate," he conceded.

She walked towards him, closing the distance between them in four short steps. She took his hand and laid it on her chest; he could feel the beating of her heart. Her cool hand dropped down to rest over his heart.

_Breathtaking._

"I understand," she said, staring into his eyes.

_So do I._


End file.
